Daily Archives: October 1, 2016

“OMG,” Paige said as she pressed a red button on her tablet and stared into the camera. “We’re rolling. Hi Lifebox followers. Here I am, live streaming from Wombat Central Square, where all the magic happens. Hashtag so much fun.”

Mack watched his niece with confusion until his sister explained it all.

“Its like everyone has the power to make their own TV show now, but none of them are ever any good.”

“Oh,” Mack replied. “So pretty much like regular TV.”

Paige flipped her tablet around to give her followers a glimpse of what she was seeing – brightly colored buildings, three jugglers on stilts tossing bowling pins in the air and catching them flawlessly, kids waiting in line to have their picture taken with Lonnie Llama. Off in the distance the wombat bumper car arena was visible and kids were plowing their wombat shaped vehicles into each other non-stop.

“Dylan!” Paige said. “Get out of the way! Hashtag brothers are the worst.”

The boy lost interest and looked at his map. “Mom. We have to catch the wombat rail to Spaceville and get in line for the shock rocket.”

“Yeesh Dylan,” Abby said. “Shock rocket? Really? Isn’t it a little early in the morning to go on a ride that’s going to launch our stomachs out of our butts?”

“It’s like a band-aid,” Dylan said. “The sooner you rip it off the better.”

“Princessify Yourself is right around the corner,” Paige said. “Come on Mom, we can get a two for one special.”

“Ehh,” Abby said as she took a sip of her store bought soda. “My princess days are over, hun. You know kids, I think the best way to start a Wombat World vacation is with a trip to the Happy Little International Children Experience.”

The kids groaned.

“Oh god,” Dylan said. “That sounds straight up awful.”

“Hashtag boo,” Paige said.

“It is adorable,” Abby said. “It was my favorite ride when I was your age. All these cute little animatronic kids dressed in clothes from around the world sing to you about how the world would be so much better if it were run by kids.”

Abby looked her spawn over. Paige was lost in her live stream. Dylan was staring at his map and picking his nose.

“Although come to think of it,” Abby said. “The irony is not lost on me.”

The entire theme park was lousy with loudspeakers. An announcer chimed in. “Good morning wombat fans. Its another bright, sunny day here at Wombat World, America’s number one amusement park dedicated to a cartoon marsupial. If you can find another park dedicated to a cartoon marsupial that’s better, cleaner, or cheaper, then by all means, go there, ingrates.”

“OK,” Abby said. “Come on, kids. We’re off to see the happy international children.”

“Shock rocket,” Dylan said.

“Princessify yourself,” Paige said.

Abby shook her head and looked to her brother, who held his arms out.

“I’m just along for the ride,” Mack said. “Whatever you all want to do.”

“All of our attractions are up and running,” the announcer said. “So make your way to Fancy Town. Say hello to Mayor Diggsley and take a ride on Lord Prissybottom’s Whirling Dirvish.”

Abby stepped into Paige’s shot. “Paige,” Abby said. “Can you put that down for a minute?”

“OMG,” Abby said. “I can’t have my mom on a live stream. Now I have to delete the whole thing and start all over. Hashtag production values.”

“I wish I could delete my life and start over,” Abby mumbled.

“All of our transportation methods are conveniently accessible,” the announcer said. “Guests are invited to move about the park by their choice of wombat rail, wombat bus, wombat boat, or if you’re one of our few non-obese visitors, wombat bicycles are available for rent.”

“Kids,” Mack said. “Maybe you could let your mom know you appreciate all she does for you by going on her ride first.”

Dylan couldn’t control himself from jumping butt first into Paige’s shot again.

“Dolla, dolla, dolla will make you holla,” the boy sang. “So shake that ass, bitch!”

More from the announcer. “Wombat fans, do you know that a dream is something you think about in order to avoid killing yourself as you shuffle through your soul crushing existence? Head on over to our animation museum, where you can get a break from the oppressive heat and take in a three hour documentary about how the Carruthers Brothers turned their mediocre sketches of a cartoon wombat into a bloated behemoth of an entertainment empire.”

“Children,” Mack barked.

The kids snapped to attention.

“You will go on your mother’s incredibly boring happy international children ride and you will make a reasonable effort to make her believe that you are enjoying yourselves as you do so,” Mack said. “Have I made myself clear?”

The announcer was back. “A special treat for you today, kids. Boyz a’Plenty, one of the four hundred boy bands to have signed on with the music division of Carruthers Brothers Amalgamated Studios, will be giving a free concert in the Wombat Garden in a half-hour.”

Paige looked up. “OMG.”

“One lucky attendee will win a tour of Wombat World, guided by the boys themselves,” the announcer said.

“OMG,” Paige said as she turned to her mother. “Mom! Mom! Mom!”

“That sounds fun,” Abby said. “Let’s check that out.”

Paige turned off her tablet. “No!”

“What?” Abby asked.

“What if I win the tour?”

“You’re probably not going to win, Paige,” Abby said.

“But I might,” Paige said. “And then the boys will think I’m a loser because my family is with me. Hashtag epic humiliation.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “Fine. Go.”

Paige ran away from her family like she was competing in the fifty-yard dash.

“But keep your phone on so I can call you!” Abby shouted after her daughter.

“Hashtag can’t hear you!” Paige shouted back.

“Have you ever wanted to experience what it would be like to have your stomach launched out of your butt?” the announcer asked. “Now you can without having to work for NASA because we will literally allow anyone, anyone at all, on this gravity defying journey to the stars. The Shock Rocket is boarding now.”

Dylan grinned at his mother.

“Mack,” Abby said. “Will you take him on the Shock Rocket?”

“Sure,” Mack said. “You don’t want to come?”

“No, I’d better not,” Abby said as she took a sip of her soda. “My doctor says my blood pressure is a little high, though for the life of me I can’t figure out why.”

Mack knew better than to say anything. “We’ll meet up with you later?”

“Yup,” Abby said. “I’ll be busy being serenaded by the happy international children and wondering where I went wrong with mine.”

BQB’s journey into zombie madness began on October 1, 2015 when he, his girlfriend, his best friend, and his alien buddy found themselves trapped in the East Randomtown Price Town with oodles of zombies trying to get in and feast on their brains.

Could happen to anyone, really.

Luckily, BQB, as the caretaker of a magic bookshelf, knew a plethora of professional writers who were kind enough to talk to an idiot with a blog that’s only read by 3.5 people.

The first writer he called was Sarah Lyons Fleming, author of Until the End of the World.

Sarah educated our resident nerd on how to pack the perfect bug-out bag. That’s a bag full of all the essentials needed to survive a life on the run during a zombie apocalypse.

Schecky Blargfeld wasn’t funny in life and is even less so in his undeath.

ANNOUNCER:

Live (er, undead) from the East Randomtown Chuckle Hut, its Schecky Blargfeld, Zombie Comedian!

SCHECKY:

Hey there, hi there, ho there 3.5 readers. Wow, let me tell you, I just trudged in all the way from LA at an incredibly slow place and boy are the arms I held out directly in front of my body the entire time tired.

Lot of stuff going on in the news these days. Lot of stuff. You know I saw on TV you’ve got two zombies running for president?

Wait, what? They’re not zombies? They’re just ridiculously old. My bad, although in my defense, both candidates look like they are the stuff of Rick Grimes’s nightmares.

Jeez Louise, 3.5. Hillary or Trump? Trump or Hillary? That’s like asking a fella which one of his two nads he wants to not be removed by a nad doctor. Both outcomes are awful so I suppose all you can do now is vote for the nad whose bullshit most corresponds to your bullshit and then hope your preferred nad won’t destroy everything by 2020.

Look kiddos, you’re the people who chose these candidates. But oh sure, I’m the dumb monster. Right. Makes a lot of sense.

You know what? Keep your brains, people. I’m not going to eat them. You need them more than I do. Keep your brains and use them to think about what you’ve done.

I’ve never met a she-zombie that didn’t want me to part with all my green stuff. Oh, FYI I’m not talking about my money but my supply of fresh, juicy brains…brains I lifted off of once smart people…not people who read blogs that only have 3.5 readers…I’m not talking about you people of course. You 3.5 readers are great.

Knock…knock…

AUDIENCE:

Who’s there?

SCHECKY:

Ima Zombie.

AUDIENCE:

Ima Zombie who?

SCHECKY:

Damn, bitch. How many zombies do you know? Let me in so I can eat your brains already!

Hey people, so check it out. It has been an entire year since Bookshelf Q. Battler survived the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse.

Do you remember that?

Zombies actually ate up the dude’s town but did BQB give up?

Sadly no, which is too bad, because let’s face it, this blog is taking up valuable real estate on the web. Space that could be used for pornography, penis lengthening pills, or scams involving Nigerian princes that you never knew you were related to who want to give you money.

But I commend BQB because like Beyonce, he’s a survivor. BQB did not give up.

No, he used a space phone given to him by his little green sidekick Alien Jones to call 31 Zombie Authors.

And those zombie authors, each an expert on the undead, gave BQB the advice he needed to pull himself out of this jam.

Did you miss the spectacle last year? Fear not.

I will be hosting #31ZombieAuthors Rewind. That’s right. Every day, I’ll refresh your memory on who BQB interviewed.

Count Krakovich hates his fellow vampires. Stop by bookshelfbattle.com all October long for the count’s advice on how to defeat them.

Bleh!

As you have heard 3.5 readers, vampires despise garlic. One bite of the stinky stuff and we are done for.

Why does garlic hurt vampires?

Many reasons.

Garlic has long been thought to have healing properties for humans. Ancient medicine men used it to treat all kinds of diseases and ailments. Hell, you can even buy garlic pills today. I have no idea if it is good for you or not, I’m a vampire, not a doctor. What I do know is as a general rule, if something is good for humans, it is bad for vampires.

Long ago, people used garlic as mosquito repellant. It stinks, so mosquitos, the bloodsucking vampires of the insect world, buzz away from it.

Bram Stroker mentioned its use to ward of vampires in Dracula.

Now, vampires aren’t fooled easy. Put it in a pizza or in some food to disguise it and they’ll sniff it out immediately and throw you out before you can get your garlic laden food all over them.

Then when you visit a vampire, let it rip. You can launch a full on assault with a loud one or take out every vampire in the room with an SBD (silent but deadly.)

Personally, I recommend the SBD approach. Going full blast ruins the element of surprise.

Garlic farts, 3.5 readers. I’m telling you. They work.

And if you’re not one to take this smelly fight to the vampires, at least protect yourself.

Never go out at night without ingesting an entire garlic clove. True, your social life will suffer as you’ll be so smelly that no one will want to kiss you but at least you’ll be able to gas a marauding vampire at a moment’s notice.